Fall for Me by Claudia Burgoa

Chapter One

Hunter

Livingin one of the biggest cities in the world means more people are out and about at all hours of the day—even at night. Lights illuminate the sky. There’s not a moment of silence. The cars drive around with their headlights on. I can’t see a single star in the sky. Nights like tonight make me wish I lived in the country, a house in Upstate New York. I’d trade my penthouse for a piece of land where I can watch the sky, littered with dazzling stars, relax near a lake, and listen to the backdrop of crickets in the long, fresh grass. Instead, I’m hurrying through midtown Manhattan. I fight the crowd as hundreds of people bustle in and out of the theaters on Broadway, all of them dressed in their best.

Debating between fighting for a cab or walking faster, I stop to check my phone. Henrietta’s picture and name flash on the screen as I pull it out of my jacket pocket. Over, we are over, I repeat inside my head. Once it stops, the notifications appear. I have thirty texts and eight missed calls—from her.

Why can’t I find an ordinary woman? My brothers ask why I’m even looking for a woman. They don’t have time for relationships and would rather play the field. I’m the youngest of four, and we couldn’t be more different. I’m the one who prefers routine. Is it so wrong to want the same person next to me every night?

The dating scene is complicated. Being me makes it at least a hundred times harder. If given a choice, I would date a woman who doesn’t know who I am, like the one coming down the sidewalk at the moment. Her hair is straight black; she wears a pair of jeans and flats, her figure a perfect hourglass. Out of habit, my eyes fall on her hand to look for rings. When she comes close to me, I see the stream of tears falling down her cheeks.

“Sorry,” she says, as she bumps against my shoulder.

I grasp her elbow, breaking her fall. “Careful, sweetheart. Are you okay?”

She shakes her head, eyes focused on the ground. Her sobs are muffled by the honking sound of a car.

“Is there something I can do to help?” Her head tilts to the left; I remove the black curtain blocking her angelic face. There’s a need inside me. “The Everhart Complex” as my brothers would say, yearning to erase her pain. “Can I walk you home?”

“No, thank you.” She dries the tears with the sleeve of her light jacket.

“What’s your address?”

She snorts. “I live in Queens. I have a long way to go.”

Not letting her go, I hail a cab helping us both inside it.

“Where in Queens?”

The beauty lifts her head, her dark green eyes that contrast with her dark hair. “No, thank you. I’ll walk.”

“This one’s on me,” I order the driver to head to Queens. “What’s your address?”

“Sorry, usually I don’t . . . it wasn’t a good night. A week—or a year . . .” she apologizes, searching inside her big, black purse. “Park Avenue and Seventy-second Street, please.”

That’s not Queens, but I’m interrupted by the buzzing sound of my phone. I pull it out of my jacket and regret it. There are several new texts from my brothers, and Henrietta, my ex.

H: We need to talk.

Scott: Your ex is harassing me.

H: No one will tell me where you are. I think this break is taking too long.

Fitz: H is texting me. You said it was over.

I text my brothers from our group chat. It is over.

Scott: Let her know and tell her to lose my number.

Fitz: Stop being a serial monogamist. But if you must, find someone less . . .

Clingy, fake?

Scott: The word you’re looking for is fake.

Stop sending me texts, I want to type. Or throw my phone out the window.

Being the baby of the house has few benefits, in general, it’s a pain in the ass. My brothers continue texting for the next few minutes. Giving me unsolicited advice on how to get the perfect girl. Not that either one of them has landed a girl—or plans on doing as much.

The woman next to me snorts. “Is she always that bold?”

I turn my attention to her. Hers is on my phone. “Do you always read over people’s shoulders?”

H: We have to get back together. We have something great going on.

H: At least give me a chance to talk about the summer.

H: Can we rent a house in the Hamptons? My parents would love to join us.

“What do you mean?”

She twists her lips to the left while her dark green eyes stare at the screen. “She wants you to rent the house. As in you pay for it.”

My eyes narrow, the memory of last December hitting me hard on the head like an ice-cold bucket thrown from the sky. H wanted a big cabin in Vermont for the winter. I paid for it, and her family enjoyed it all fucking winter long.

“No. You shouldn’t overthink it.” Her eyes brighten, not sure if it’s the unshed tears or the light hitting her face. “Or regret it. Next time, try to get to know her before offering her a trip to Barbados.”

The cab stops right at the corner of Park Avenue and Seventy-second.

“This is me,” she says, sighing. “Reality awaits. Let’s confront my master, my demons, and beg for a little help.”

“Sounds like you don’t want to do it.”

She hands me a ten-dollar bill. “Thank you for the laugh.”

“At me?”

“No.” She smirks. “Maybe.”

“Should you be begging for help?” I don’t assume, but maybe she’s going back to some rich guy who will solve her money situation.

“In this case, yes. Let’s hope he forgives me and opens his home and wallet for a few days.”

With that, she shuts the door, dragging herself off to the third building on the left. I wonder where she’s going and who she is visiting. Mostly, why do I care about her and her name?

Willow

I’m not much of a nine to five career girl. I’d rather be on a stage, singing, and dancing. It’s fine, I guess we all have to pay our dues. I hope I’m done with my debt soon. The buzzer of the phone goes off again.

I’ve said, “Beesley Enterprises,” more than a thousand times, well probably not that many but almost. My cheeks hurt from smiling during every call and at every person who steps out of the elevator as the chrome doors slide open. My left hand cramps from signing all the receipts I’ve been handed along with packages. The clock ticks on the wall.

The loudest noises, the working elevator and the chatty assistants who come to pick up the correspondences, won’t take my mind away from . . . I exhale. Tomorrow night would’ve been the opening of my play. I was the lead, knew all the songs, all the moves. My big break was about to happen until the producer broke the news.

“Due to unforeseeable circumstances, we have to shut down production.”

Unforeseeable? Sleeping with the promoter and then cheating on him was predictable. Next time, keep it in your pants, buddy. Thanks to him, my checking account balance is in the single digits. As a theater actress, I live paycheck to paycheck. If I don’t work, I don’t have money. Therefore, I’m doomed.

Last Thursday, I had to ask my younger sister for help.

“How about moving to Queens with me?” I sounded enthusiastic.

“You’re kidding, right?” Her voice is somber, not a trace of humor coming from her. “Why would I want to move to Queens, Wills?”

“To be with me?”

She eyed me suspiciously. “What happened to your roommate?”

“She’s moving to L.A. next month,” I said, casually avoiding the part where I needed money to pay my rent now.

“If I move, will it be rent free?”

“Well. you’ll have to pay your part, Hazel.” I faked annoyance, adding a little fact, “This is New York. Rent isn’t free.”

“I don’t pay rent while living with gramps.” She smiled. “Why would I want to move in with you?”

“Because you love me?”

“Willow, do you need money?” She spoke with a business-like voice. “I only live here part time.” Turning slightly to the leather couch, she pointed at her books. “You seem to forget I only live here during summers and on weekends, then it’s back to North Carolina. I can’t afford to pay for two places.”

I huffed, defeated.

“Do you need money?” she repeated the question.

My back slumped, but I didn’t cry. Nope, I shed all the tears while leaving the theater. “The play. It got canceled.”

“Oh no, Wills.” Hazel walked to me, hugging me tightly, her hand patting my back. The endearment broke the dam, and I began to cry again. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I sobbed.

“Why don’t you come work for us?”

“What?” I choked with my tears. She’s insane.

“We’re looking for a receptionist, but I can’t find the right one.”

“I’m an actress,” I reminded her. “A waitress if I’m desperate. I don’t have office experience.”

“It’s an easy job. You won’t regret it. Please?” She gave me those big, puppy eyes that made me say yes to anything she requested. “At least cover the position while we find a new girl.”

“Will that cover my rent?”

Hazel lowered her head, sighing heavily. “You can always move in with us,” she suggested, throwing me another adorable, you can’t say no to me, look. “Gramps has plenty of room.”

“Fine.” I mouthed the hardest, yet easiest word.

And that’s how I became Beesley Enterprise’s new assistant. Saying no to Hazel is impossible. We’re close to each other, and I love her as if she were my child because I cared for her for as long as I can remember. My parents aren’t great in the parental department. I had to raise my sister and look after her when they were out of town.

Adulthood sucks—my life is a complete mess. Nothing says “successful adult” like being twenty-six and living with your grandfather—and having your little sister as your boss.

Only a few months, Willow. A few months of what? My career isn’t taking off.

The glass door to the left opens. My sister, wearing a dark red, fringe-trimmed dress, steps into the reception area. Her wavy, brown hair is pulled back into a French twist. She looks professional, elegant, and nothing like the little tomboy I grew up with back in Santa Cruz. Back when we were younger, I was the one who loved to dress up with elegant gowns, wearing high heels and makeup. Her . . . not so much. Now, here she is looking gorgeous and working on…I am just beginning to understand what she does for Grandpa’s company. Loaning money, investing—something related to that—and real estate.

“Stop staring at me like I’m your little kid, ‘all grown-up.’” She imitates the voice of an older woman. “Twenty-four is a good age to look like an adult, Wills.”

It’s not just her, but me. I’m older. When did we become women instead of children?

“Can you get us lunch, please?” she requests. “You’re daydreaming too much. I thought we were past the canceled play and ready to move on?”

“Perhaps?” If, and only if, the lottery ticket I bought at the convenience store this morning has the winning numbers as Pedro, the clerk, promised.

“Lunch?”

The ding announcing the elevator is about to arrive interrupts my thoughts. The doors slide open, and I know whoever’s behind them will step out asking if this is Beesley Enterprises. I’ll stop myself from pointing at the big golden letters, and just plaster on a smile. I get ready, massaging my cheeks before it all happens. Hazel rolls her eyes, you’re such a drama queen, Willow, they scream.

Unlike the other hundred times, the man stepping outside wears a surprised look.

Oh, my God!

Why is he here?

The man from last Thursday. Mr. I’m-going-to-solve-your-life-because-I-am-a-hero. He’s good looking in that Chris Pratt kind of way. Why is he here?

“You’ve been ignoring me all weekend, mister,” Hazel chides him with a smile on her lips as she walks toward him.

They hug lightly. He’s almost a foot taller than her, wide shoulders, and a killer smile. His tousled, brown hair sweep to the side letting me see his light brown eyes, almost as light as my sister’s. Not extremely handsome, but he holds a worldly personality. For a moment, I play in my head the game of guess who he is and what he does.

Maybe a geek who’s searching for an investor. He’s smart and knows many languages. He likes to travel the world with only a few hundred dollars, carrying a backpack. This man has visited Europe and gone to Latin America. I stare at his expensive suit. Armani? Hugo Boss? Oh, he’s old-money rich. During his trips, he stayed in five-star hotels while visiting small villages and helping the poor. Suddenly, I want to join him on those crusades. We can do it between my productions—that is, if I win the lottery tomorrow night.

Whoa, Willow, stop right there.

You sound like your mother, a hippie with only one goal in life. She travels on Dad’s dime and cares for those in need more than her own family.

“Miss Beesley, you’re just as demanding as every female I know.” He laughs it out, handing her a folder. “I just need you to sign, and the deal is done.”

“I doubt I’m as demanding as they are.” She grabs the folder.

“How so?” He crooks an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

“The other women are demanding a ring. I just need my friend around and some legal help.” She opens the folder, reading while speaking.

His attention goes from my sister to me. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” He takes four long steps, extending his hand. “Hunter Everhart.”

“Don’t start hitting on her, Everhart,” Hazel demands, running to meet us and waving his hand away as if he was an insignificant fly. “She’s not your type.”

“How do you know my type, Beesley?”

“Met her last month. What was her name?” She snaps her fingers, biting her bottom lip as she recalls who I think is Hunter’s girlfriend. “Was it Heinie?”

He snorts, and it takes a moment for him to compose himself and side glance at me.

“I call her H. Her name is Henie. Short for Henrietta,” he explains to me. He gives Hazel a pinched expression, annoyed at her remark. If we’re talking about the same H who texted last Thursday, my sister is spot on about me not being like her. Not. At. All. “Who told you that nickname? Fitz?”

She laughs, and there’s a pinch in my heart. I hate to know he’s making her laugh, as much as I love to see her smiling freely maybe for the first time in months. Is she attracted to him? Maybe it’s time for her to move on and find a new person to make her heart beat.

“Hey, Willow.” Hazel sobers up, giving me a funny look I can’t read. “How about that lunch?”

“What about it?”

“I need you to go and get me something to eat.”

Am I her delivery service too? Two thousand dollars a month doesn’t justify being her butler. “Weren’t you going for it?”

Her eyebrow raises, her head tilts. Fuck, I think this is what she meant when she said I shouldn’t undermine her authority. “No.” She lifts the folder Hunter brought. “I have work to do.”

“Who will be tending the phones?”

“I can answer the phones while I go through the contract.” Her eyes remain glued to the folder. “Just bring me a grilled cheese sandwich and a chocolate shake.”

“Nutritious.” I grab my purse, biting back the health risks she faces if she continues eating like she’s in an eternal state of PMS.

Standing up, I study her. “Are you okay, Bee?”

“Yeah, I just have a ton of work.”

“I’m here if you need to talk.”

She nods, giving me a sad smile. Whatever she has going on inside her head won’t come out in front of Hunter. I hurry to the elevator, pushing the down button. I step inside, and Hunter follows me. Maybe moving to my grandfather’s home was a good idea. Hazel needs me. My spirits are back up in full big-sister mode. Hazel needs me at my best, doesn’t she?

“I never caught your name,” Hunter interrupts my thoughts.

He did, Hazel mentioned it. I dismiss him by mumbling, “Willow.”

“Did things work out with whoever you went to visit?”

“Huh?” I stop strategizing about Hazel and what we’ll do to keep her entertained. Turning to him, I find him studying me. His warm eyes cause my heart rate to speed up. “What are you talking about?”

“You were going to find your ex the night we met.” He tilts his chin down, frowning.

Suddenly the rich aroma of amber notes envelops me causing me to almost break into a mating-ritual song. I take a step back. Musicals are my passion, and this man and I have nothing to sing about—or dance along to either. “Whoa. You’ve got it all wrong.”

Why would I have to see him again? That night was the worst night of my career. And I’ve made some pretty bad career moves. Like the month I pretended I was a ballerina instead of a stripper. That planning party company where I worked as Elsa and sang “Let It Go” for months at children’s parties. Back then, there was hope that something better would arrive. Now, the something better shuts down and I’m back to square one. I have no leads. My agent assures me something will come along.

“How so?” Hunter waits for more than my retort.

Fuck. I didn’t plan to see him again. More like I begged never to see that guy again. He saw me at my lowest. Weak, defeated, and I even let him help me into a cab. He saw a part of me I hate to show. One only Hazel has seen.

Willow, take it easy.It doesn’t matter. By tomorrow he won’t remember your name, and he’ll be dating another Fanny. Or was it Heinie? Who cares? Not me. I’m not interested in dating anyone, not even Chris Pratt’s doppelganger. In the meantime, I should make a plan to avoid him. Maybe I can ask the front desk to call every time he’s in the building. Stop, Willow, you’re overthinking it. My sister is right, I’m a drama queen. The elevator car comes to a stop and the doors open. I scurry through the crowd of people entering and dash outside the building through the glass revolving doors.

“Hasta la vista, Hunter,” I mumble.

When I enter the deli, I look behind me. He didn’t follow me. That’sgood, Willow, I tell myself. Isn’t it?I can pretend with everyone that I don’t care about what’s happening to me, show the people around me that nothing affects me. That the ice-queen façade protects me from being hurt. My parents taught me not to trust those who say they love you. They leave without caring about you. At least, my parental units never gave a fuck about us.

For a second, Hunter’s playful, warm eyes made me forget the rules I’ve established for years. Never fall for a charming smile or a kind gesture. Only a few minutes ago, I was drooling while dreaming of our future. Last week, he woke something inside of me, something I’d numbed a long time ago and don’t care to feel ever again. For a few moments, I felt safe as he broke my fall and offered to take me home. And that’s all you need, one second to let a man into your life. They destroy you slowly with false promises and a sense of security.

Sure, he looked like a gentleman. A caring man who might pledge the woman he falls in love with the sky. Is he the kind who won’t stop at anything to fulfill his promises?

No, most men take everything away and leave without giving a second glance.